


Hell Hath No Fury

by ailithpenninor



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Lesbian Character, One Shot, Original Character - Freeform, Skyrim Romance, Tumblr Prompt, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailithpenninor/pseuds/ailithpenninor
Summary: Skyrim one shot based on the prompt, "A bride left at the altar, a map, a dangerous family heirloom"





	Hell Hath No Fury

“The blessings of Mara upon us”, began Maramal, “We are gathered here today as the friends, family and well-wishers of the two beautiful brides to celebrate the start of their life together in the light of Mara, the benevolent Goddess of Love.”

The small crowd gathered in the temple settled down and faced the modest altar. Despite its size, the crowd consisted of some of the most highly placed nobles and officials from across Skyrim including, the Jarl of Riften and her two sons, the Jarl of Solitude and her steward Falk Firebeard, the Jarl of Falkreath and, Kodlak Whitemane accompanied by the Lady Aela of Whiterun. It was clearly a star studded wedding but, why wouldn’t it be? After all, one of the brides was the famed Dragonborn, saviour of Tamriel.

Maramal, the head priest of the Temple concluded his short sermon on the importance of Mara’s beliefs in everyday life by inviting the brides to come forward. A few minutes of silence passed but when nobody came forward, a murmur broke out around the Temple. Aela turned in her seat just as an agitated young woman pushed the doors open and stormed through to the altar. She exchanged what appeared to be a few harsh words in hushed tones with Maramal. Aela caught only a few snatches of what was said but it seemed like the Dragonborn was nowhere to be found.

“I don’t know where she is!”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that… if she doesn’t show up soon, you will have to call the wedding off and seek Mara’s blessings on your union another day.”

“Please, is there nothing you can do? Does the Temple perhaps have a courier?”

“The Temple of Mara depends on the charity of the people of Skyrim. We most certainly do not have a courier! I feel very sorry for you Sylgja, a beautiful woman such as yourself doesn’t deserve this but it seems like your fiancée has left you at the altar.”

Sylgja’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the crowd, a dejected expression on her face. What was she supposed to say to all these people? They had travelled far and wide on the request of her “fiancée” to be there on the day of their wedding, what _she_ had promised would be the happiest day of their lives but now…

From across the Temple she caught her mother’s worried eye. She had to be strong, she realised. She was not one to fall apart at the rejection of some woman, even if that woman was the Dragonborn! She would have her revenge but for now, she had to be a gracious host.

“I’m very sorry to all of my esteemed guests but it appears that I have been left at the altar”, she announced, her voice shaking slightly, “Not to worry though, the rest of your stay at Riften will be covered entirely by my _ex_ -fiancée. Please, feel free to send your receipts to her steward, Rayya. Once again, please accept my –”

Her conciliatory speech was interrupted when the doors of the Temple were unceremoniously shoved open by a hulking figure in steel plate armour. A howling wind carried torrential rain through the open doors and lightning flashed in the night sky behind him, illuminating the fresh gore and large dents that covered his armour. A collective gasp echoed through the room as he lifted his helm and dropped it to the floor – a giant gash over his left eye gushed blood over half his face.

“Lady Sylgja”, he growled, “The Dragonborn, Thane of Morthal, Solitude, Riften and Falkreath, your beloved fiancée sends her regrets.”

Sylgja ran forward, “Valdimar!”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him into an empty seat, “What happened? Where is she?”

Valdimar raised his head and met her concerned eyes with weary eyes of his own.

“She fought… long... and hard but, they… She sent me… sacrificed herself… get a message… Apologies…” he managed between laboured breaths.

Aela held his slackening jaw open and poured a healing potion down his throat but he had already lost consciousness. Maramal and his acolytes rushed forward to carry Valdimar to the healing rooms beneath the Temple.

Sylgja plopped down onto the bench, her face a mask of shock and fear. Everybody rushed about around her, either making to leave the Temple or help Valdimar in whatever way they could. She didn’t realise she was crying until her vision began to blur. She bent her head and wiped away the traitorous streams that streaked her face. That was when she noticed it, a crumpled piece of parchment beside her feet, streaked with rain and blood.

She picked it up and flattened it in her lap, on it was a crudely drawn map with a huge ‘X’ marked in the middle and a single sentence scribbled in her fiancée’s handwriting – ‘I’m sorry my love’.

Divines be damned! She was going to find her fiancée! No woman left _her_ at the altar!

* * *

 

Beneath the Temple, Valdimar had slowly begun to regain consciousness. His armour and weapons lay on a low table beside his bed when Sylgja made her way down.

She sat down beside him and took his hand in her own, “Thank you for your bravery Valdimar, I hope you are feeling better. I found the map she sent, I need you to tell me how to help her.”

“Yes, my lady. But the thane… she is in grave danger”, he winced in his bed as looked around him for his armour and weapons. He gestured to the longsword on the table. It was a majestic weapon of ebony, glowing with an iridescent purple enchantment.

“The sword, it is a Daedric artefact known as the Lost Sword of Sithis, an heirloom of the founders of the Dark Brotherhood. It is a powerful weapon that slays its victims in a single strike, trapping their souls in the void from where the wielder can harness their power in any way they deem fit. It was said to be lost for several centuries when the Brotherhood in Cyrodil fell apart. The thane found it when we were clearing necromancers from a tomb in the Pale.

We were preparing for our journey out of the cave when all the dead around us rose. A necromage had entered the cave from a secret entrance behind the throne room. He wielded the longsword’s power to raise the dead and summon several dremora. The thane fought hard but it was clear that we could not both survive. She cleared a path to the exit, gave me the map and the sword, and forbade me from dying until I reached you.

You have to find her, my lady. She is yet alive for her soul is strong but, she will not survive much longer.”

Returning to Honeyside, Sylgja ran to the basement where she donned the exquisite set of Daedric Armour that her fiancée had handcrafted and raided several chests throughout the house for weaponry. Armed to the teeth with a selection of deadly weapons and the Lost Sword of Sithis, she mounted Frost and set off for the Pale.

* * *

 

The inner sanctum of the tomb was cloaked in gloom and the rank smell of blood and rotting corpses permeated everything. Eryeril Stormus paced between the pillars from which the Dragonborn was suspended, her lifeblood encrusted the length of her restraints and her head hung limply between her shoulders. Intermittently he would pause before her, shooting several blasts of electricity at her heart to resurrect her and begin his questioning over again until she lost consciousness. He was growing tired of waiting for her to break but he had no choice, he did not know where she had sent that rat of hers and he had no way to wander the expanse of Skyrim in search of him.

Just as he charged his hands with magicka, a commotion behind him drew his attention. The carved doors to the sanctum blew open and a dozen of his resurrected minions flew backwards, disintegrating to ash. The Dragonborn raised her head, had Valdimar made it back already? No, that was not Valdimar. It was someone far scarier…

A woman stood in the doorway, her face set in a disgusted scowl.

Her glowing Daedric Armour drenched in blood and guts, she held the Lost Sword of Sithis in a single hand while the other was aflame. Arcing the sword through the corpses before her, Sylgja shot a firebolt at Eryeril’s feet and exclaimed, “Give me my fucking wife back!”


End file.
